


Finesse

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Pole Dancing, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 06:14:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13475400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: There’s a pole in the motel. Cue Noctis.





	Finesse

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Noctis on a stripper pole looking sexy af” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7509294#cmt7509294).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s another cheap motel, but Prompto’s hardly complaining—any mattress is better than a campground. It doesn’t bother him that the curtains looked stained through the windows, that the door is battered, or that the building’s paint is chipping. Ignis provides the keys, and then they’re all slipping inside a cramped, grubby room. 

Somehow, even with the decrepit look of the outside, Prompto didn’t _quite_ expected to find a rusting stripper pole in the middle of it. Ignis halts in his track, Prompto stepping around him just in time to avoid a broken nose. There’re four beds—one in every corner—a tiny beer fridge, an open door to a tiny bathroom nook, and a metal pole right in the center. There’s no way it’s structural. Prompto can’t stifle his laugh.

It’s been too long since they had anything to really laugh at, so it’s an easy decision to stroll right over to it, face the other boys, and tease, “So, anybody want a show?”

“From you?” Noctis snorts, like _that’s_ the weird part.

“Uh-huh—bet I could do better than your royal ass.” Somehow, Prompto doubts Ignis has ever let Noctis even remotely near a strip show. Not that Prompto’s ever been to one, but he’s at least seen them on TV. Ignis is already putting his hand to his face, and Gladiolus is just shaking his head and walking to the nearest mattress.

Noctis, the last one left in the doorway, shuts the door and crosses his arms, shooting right back, “Pfft, you _wish_.”

“I _know_. You’re the one that wishes you had my grace.”

Noctis makes a big show of rolling his eyes as he saunters over, coming to lightly shove Prompto out of the way. His other hand closes around the dulled silver, and he quips with condescending confidence, “Just watch.”

Prompto sticks out his tongue but steps back to do just that, fully ready to get a good laugh out of his best buddy’s antics.

Noctis turns an almost bored look to the pole, runs his grip slowly upwards until his arm’s fully extended, and then he rocks his hips once against it, rolling his entire body with the movement. Prompto’s smirk quickly dies.

There’s no music in the room, but Noctis doesn’t seem to need it. He starts immediately, turning to press his back against the pole and spreading his thighs open, then gliding carefully down to his feet, knees parting wider and wider as the pole traces his spine, until his hips are resting on his heels and completely open. Another body roll, and his crotch thrusts forward, his free hand flowing with it to trace up his leg, teasing at the bottom of his shirt. He takes hold of the hem in his thumb and forefinger, teeth biting into his bottom lip. He makes as though to drag up his shirt, then quickly springs right back to his feet and spins around, hiding his stomach from view as his rear thrusts out. It moves in a gradual circle, never stilling, and with his grip still tight above him, Noctis suddenly lifts off the ground to spin around the pole. Prompto watches his feet move elegantly through the air and horribly wonders what this would look like if Noctis were wearing heels.

Noctis reaches the front again, tosses his head back and thrusts his chest forward. His hands drift to the lapels of his open vest. He strips it away with a fluid grace that makes Prompto’s mouth strangely dry, and just like that, Noctis’ vest is on the floor. His tongue slips out to trace his pink lips, and his hand splays down his front to slip beneath his hem again, this time bunching up the shirt as his body rolls. The black fabric slips right past his stomach, up over his abs, his pecs half on display, but right at his rosy nipples, Noctis stops to spin about the poll again, this time with one leg kicking up to hook around it. That draws Prompto’s eye to another place entirely. Noctis’ face is still ridiculously idle, like this is _easy_ , simple, something he could pull off in his sleep. But that bored gaze burns holes right into Prompto. He feels almost faint.

Noctis hugs up to the pole like he’s going to kiss it, bites his lip again and grinds slowly into it. He actually _winks_. Prompto’s entire face is burning up. 

Doing a half-turn, Noctis swings to face forward with one leg still around the pole, and his hands fall to his belt. Hips swaying to an imaginary beat, he pops it out. He reaches his fly, fingers on the zipper, body arched as his head tosses back—

And Ignis cuts through the silence like a knife: “That’s _enough_ , Noct. I think you’ve made your point.”

Prompto’s head swivels around, unsure whether he’s grateful or disappointed, and finds Ignis’ normally so dignified face understandably flushed. His mouth is in a tight, straight line.

Gladiolus is openly gaping. 

Prompto thinks he might never look at his best friend the same way again.

But Noctis just shrugs and slumps off the pole, casually doing up his fly and scrunching his shirt back down. He collects his jacket and meanders over to an unoccupied bed. He shoots Prom a grin and an, “I told you so,” before yawning and plopping down onto the blankets.

There’s only one bed yet unspoken for. Prompto looks at it.

But he shuffles shamefully off to the washroom instead, Noctis’ swaying hips still dancing in his mind.


End file.
